


and the sun just goes on rising

by ifimightchime



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Natasha is older than in MCU timeline), Aliases, Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Getting to Know Each Other, Time Loop, although Opponents to Allies to Lovers is more appropriate really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 08:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13609320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifimightchime/pseuds/ifimightchime
Summary: On a routine SHIELD extraction job, Peggy gets stuck in a time loop with the woman guarding the man she's come for. It turns out there are worse people to be stuck with.





	and the sun just goes on rising

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saiditallbefore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [И солнце снова всходит](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17495039) by [WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party/pseuds/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party)



It’s strange to see Redmond on the city streets, in the afternoon sun, instead of in the office’s dull lights or on surveillance pictures. Watching her approach, Peggy can reluctantly understand how SHIELD could overlook her; even after having seen her fight, knowing the mad situation she’s found herself in, Peggy can almost believe the relaxed enjoyment in Redmond’s expression, in her walk. She’s a master of her craft, and much as Peggy still wants to fire the entire research department for not looking into Redmond’s background, she can see exactly how unnoticable the woman is when she wants to be.

Even with the grim tone in her voice as she angles herself towards Peggy, the cheery smile on her face never falters. “All right. I’m here.”

“Thank you,” Peggy says quietly, and the surprise just barely registers in Redmond’s eyes. “I’ve watched my team, as I said I would. None of them have shown any signs of recall. It’s just us.”

Redmond sighs, long and low. “I was afraid of that.”

They stand side-by-side and silent for a moment. The street is quiet around them; not quite deserted, but sparsely populated enough that Peggy doesn’t feel the need to do more than keep her voice low. Redmond doesn't seem to have any interest in being overheard, following suit. She doesn't seem ready to attack, either, but Peggy continues to watch Redmond's hands out of the corner of her eye, ready to fight if she needs to.

“I tried taking it this morning,” Redmond says, slowly, and Peggy just barely keeps herself from starting as she recognizes it for the peace offering it is. She hadn’t expected any real cooperation from Redmond, not when Peggy’s team was after the man that Redmond was set to guard; Peggy shouldn’t be even trying for any kind of alliance, but this strange, impossible repetition seems so much more important than Cahill.

Peggy supposes she’s not the only one ready to feel like she isn’t trapped in the unthinkable alone. Ten days of the same awakening, the same briefing, the same firefight and illogical reset, is nearing enough to make her doubt her sanity. She feels as if she hasn’t slept since the first time she watched the office dissolve into green, pulsing lights and her eyes snapped open into the darkness of the morning. 

She tried to nap before meeting Redmond, and all she’d been able to see when she closed her eyes was waves of green light.

“Oh?” Peggy settles on, noncommittal, and waits for Redmond to continue.

“Cahill keeps the case with him. I can get into the drawer, I can get it out, but without the case, I’m not sure if it’ll -- _reset_ ,” Redmond all but spits out with a surprising fervor, “before I get the chance to do anything else. I don’t know if the case will make a difference either, but at least it would be a new variable.”

“Yes, we’re a bit short on those,” Peggy agrees with a sigh. It doesn’t seem to matter who touches it anymore; each morning, they wake up, the only ones to recall that it’s happened before. “Perhaps if _nobody_ goes into the drawer--”

“Cahill won’t leave without it,” Redmond says, shaking her head, and a wry smile twists her lips. “You could leave him alone long enough to close it up and see what happens.”

It’s tempting, but there’s a difference between allowing the job to come second in the face of the impossible, and ignoring the job altogether. Catching Cahill in his attempt to stash the strange green cylinder that’s caused all this is still Peggy’s best chance of getting him off his guard. Besides-- “Somebody would open it to take a look,” she says, sighing. “If it’s that important to him, it won’t get left alone.”

“Pull rank?” Redmond suggests, and Peggy raises an eyebrow. “I do my homework, Director.”

 _I_ , Peggy notes. Not _we_. Whether that speaks to Redmond’s lack of agency or lack of trust in her own people, Peggy isn’t certain, but it says something. Something she can probably work with, at that.

“I need to get back before my team comes looking for me,” Peggy says, reluctantly. “I’ll keep thinking.”

“Me too,” Redmond says, sounding nearly amused, and pauses. “Three days. If we’re still going around again, we can meet here again. Not like anybody’s going to have time to pick up a pattern,” she adds, and this time Peggy holds back a laugh.

“All right. Three days.”

She can feel Redmond’s eyes on her as she walks away. It feels like a test, and she doesn’t look over her shoulder until well after she’s turned the corner.

* * *

“Why don’t you take Cahill and run in the morning?” Peggy blurts out as Redmond settles next to her, three fruitless days later, her own frustration making it harder to curb her tongue. Time after time, no matter what she does, the day doesn’t seem to play out any differently. Nothing makes a difference: whether or not she warns her team about Redmond being another bodyguard; whether or not she makes her way into Cahill’s office; whether she kills him or leaves him alive; whether anyone touches the green cylinder in his cabinet drawer or it gets left be. No matter what, the world slides sideways into a pulse of green light, and she wakes up in the safe house in the wee hours of the morning.

She’s beginning to wonder if she really is going mad after all, and how little Redmond changes her routines from repetition to repetition doesn’t help matters.

Redmond turns to face her properly, expression carefully neutral, and there’s silence as they study each other. Peggy isn’t really expecting an answer, but she’s sure the idea has crossed Redmond’s mind; she seems _smart_ , too smart to miss such an obvious answer. Take Cahill and run well before SHIELD’s team closes in, and avoid the fight altogether. Maybe then something would change.

“I’m going to break into the cabinet in the morning tomorrow,” Redmond says finally, ignoring the question altogether. “See if taking it up earlier in the day does anything. I don’t think we need to meet each other the day after, but I’ll try to catch you in the office to be sure we get the same result.”

“Right.” Peggy sighs, closing her eyes and lifting a hand to rub at her temples. “That’s as good an idea as any I’ve had. I let Du--one of my team handle it two days ago and it still doesn’t seem to have changed a thing.” She’d let Dugan put his hands all over it, not bothered with warnings or trying to get him to be cautious; she’d even gotten him to break it, the same way she had the first time, putting just too much pressure on the surprisingly fragile cylinder and watching it give in his hand.

She can read Dugan like a book, and he’d started the next day like all the others. She’d nearly told him, watching it, desperate to believe he’d somehow become a better actor while she wasn’t looking, rather than think it was only ever going to be her and a woman she barely knew in this strange loop.

“Cahill never handles it without gloves, but if this doesn’t work, I’ll see if I can get the other guard to take it.” Redmond doesn’t sound like she has much hope that it will work, but there’s nothing they can do but try.

“Right. Another three days, then?” Peggy asks, and Redmond nods.

* * *

On the next run through the day, Peggy closes her eyes during the briefing, and she opens them into the morning blackness.

She turns over in the bed and closes her eyes, trying to steal sleep while the adrenaline isn’t pumping for once, but she still can’t stop seeing green behind her eyelids.

* * *

“I interrogated Cahill,” Redmond greets her, matter-of-factly, the next time they meet. Peggy pauses for only a second before gesturing for her to continue. “He doesn’t know anything, and the -- whatever it is -- it reacted as soon as I got the drawer open. I didn’t even have time to get it in the case, forget lock it down.”

Peggy bites back a swear, and nods her understanding. “All right. Any other ideas?”

* * *

“Cahill won’t listen to me,” Redmond says, out of nowhere. It’s nearly a month they’ve been in this endless cycle, the sixth of their quiet afternoon meetings, and Peggy’s mouth is open, excuses to leave on the tip of the tongue. Their meetings keep getting shorter and shorter; she isn’t even sure why she came to see Redmond, except for the hope that together, they might find their way out of it, since she’s having no luck on her own.

She swallows the goodbyes she was about to give and considers Redmond’s words. “About what?”

“I try to tell him to leave,” Redmond explains, sounding weary. “I try to get him to put it in the case before anyone gets there. He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t leave the other guard’s sight. I thought if he put it away for long enough -- but it’s not working.”

It’s more information than Peggy had expected Redmond to offer, especially unprompted, but she supposed three weeks of this has worn down on the girl as well. Anything is starting to seem reasonable, if it might move things forward, no matter who that means allying with. The job barely seems to matter anymore; she’s even tried letting Cahill get the case sorted away and leave, but even that didn’t seem to do any good.

“I’m running out of ideas,” Redmond finishes, the frustration naked on her face for once, and Peggy understands the emotion well.

“You’re a hired hand, aren’t you?” she asks carefully, watching Redmond for any sign of withdrawal. “Not like Peabody, who’s a part of the company. You’ve only worked for him four months.”

“That’s part of it,” Redmond agrees, tiredly.

“And you’re a woman?” Peggy guesses, and Redmond nods. “Of course. But that’s not what I meant. You’re not _loyal_ to him.”

“You want me to let you have him?”

“We have quite skilled interrogators. If he does know anything, they could get it out of him. If he doesn’t, we have scientists.”

“And if we don’t even get him on the plane before we’re back here again?” Redmond asks, raising her eyebrows, and Peggy shrugs.

“It’s something new.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Redmond looks away. “I’ll think about it,” she says, and Peggy lets the subject drop.

* * *

At six weeks, Peggy finds her way to their usual meetup spot and says bluntly, “I’m taking tonight off. Whatever you want to try, however you’d like to play it -- I’m taking tonight.”

Redmond watches her, silent. They spend a lot of time silent when they meet up, and they meet up more and more these days; it feels more and more like their options are run dry, and it’s nice just to be around somebody who understands how strange it all is. Peggy is tired, tired of getting into a pointless firefight every night that won’t change anything; tired of wondering if somebody’s going to be a casualty tonight; tired of trying to come up with ideas in the thick of it.

One night. She just needs one night.

“What are you going to do?” Redmond asks finally, and Peggy shrugs.

“I don’t know. Sleep, maybe. Drink,” she adds, and it gets a smile out of Redmond. “Anything that I haven’t done for forty-three straight days. I’m tired of it. Aren’t you, Redmond?”

Redmond is quiet even longer, and Peggy’s about ready to say her goodbyes when she finally speaks again. “Natasha.”

“Natasha?” Peggy echoes, an invitation to continue.

“Yes,” Redmond -- Natasha -- says, without elaborating.

Peggy has had her suspicions that Norma Redmond was only an alias since learning that the woman was a hired hand and SHIELD had no idea; she accepts the proof with a small smile. “You can call me Peggy, if you’d like.”

Natasha hums, and then turns to face her properly. There’s a hint of a smile playing around her mouth -- not the cheery smile she still tries to wear on her walk to meet Peggy, despite the likelihood that no one around will ever remember this; just a lift of her lips that feels much more honest. “Take a break tonight. I’ll take tomorrow. Who knows -- maybe we can shake things up.”

“It's worth a try,” Peggy agrees, and for the first time in a while, she thinks it may actually be true.

* * *

Two repetitions later, they find themselves side by side on the street again, and Natasha stares at the sky instead of looking at her.

“I got out of the country,” she says, and shakes her head. “It didn’t make a difference.”

“No,” Peggy agrees, and sighs. “All right. Back to the drawing board, I suppose.”

“What’s _left_?” Natasha asks, sounds more exhausted than ever, and Peggy doesn’t have an answer for her.

* * *

They’ve been meeting up every afternoon for some time. Peggy’s starting to lose track of how long it’s been, of what they’ve tried on which days. It’s not as if they can write it down in any way that will stay with them. She writes out the methods day after day, as if it will somehow bring fresh ideas to her mind, but she can’t quite keep the order straight anymore.

Natasha puts a hand on her shoulder; it’s the first time she’s touched her when they weren’t fighting, and Peggy starts. “We’re taking a break.”

It’s been two weeks since they tried taking nights off; not really so long, but Peggy can’t argue that she isn’t ready to not have to walk into a fight again. “Both of us?” she asks instead, and at Natasha’s nod, she spreads her hands. “All right. Where to?”

Natasha looks surprised, and Peggy wonders if she didn’t mean a break _together_ after all, before Natasha pushes away from the wall and leads her down the street.

It isn’t much -- dinner, and a few stories that carefully don’t give away any classified information or overtly personal information -- but it’s quiet, and calm, and Natasha isn’t bad company until the world washes out green in the middle of Peggy’s fourth glass of wine.

She opens her eyes in the darkness with the taste of it still in her mouth, and for once manages an hours’ sleep with only hints of green in her dream.

* * *

“I want to surrender,” Natasha says, three months and one week in, when clandestine meetings on the street have turned to daily lunches and casual conversation, stories that edge around the details of names and dates and stray thoughts on what they might be able to try.

“We’ve tried taking him in and,” Peggy starts, but Natasha looks up at her and she cuts herself off.

“I’m tired of -- tired of all of this, tired of Cahill, there’s no point in fighting every night to keep up appearances. I’ll take out Peabody myself, I’ll give him to you. Save us both time and energy. Maybe we can finally figure it out if we’re not worrying about getting shot,” Natasha adds with a wry smile.

It sounds tempting; no more worrying about whether they’re going to forge forward on an unpleasant or downright horrifying set of circumstances, no more thinking about things that don’t matter. Still, Peggy frowns, considering the consequences. “And when we finally move on?”

She doesn’t raise the question of whether they will, deliberately, but Natasha snorts and charges into it anyway. “You mean if?” She shrugs. “I’ll handle it.”

“Cahill has partners. Employers. They won’t be happy with you,” Peggy feels compelled to point out.

“I -- “ Natasha hesitates, squares her shoulder before continuing. “I don’t trust them. I’d rather deal with you. We could do that, right? Cut a deal? You could protect me?” she adds, looks sideways at Peggy, who can’t do anything but nod.

“If you were helping us. I could come up with an angle for it. I suppose these long lunches are good for something,” she adds with a laugh that Natasha echoes. “We could do that, yes.”

“Good.” Natasha reaches out, squeezes Peggy’s arm lightly, before moving to leave. “They’ll be all wrapped up for you tonight, then. Let’s see how far we can get before we get yanked back.”

* * *

They get Cahill in a car, but that’s farther than they’ve managed before.

The next night, they get a little farther, and Peggy thinks maybe, maybe somehow they’ve found a road out, if she can be patient enough.

* * *

It takes another week and a half for her to put voice to the thought running around her head, surprising herself as much as Natasha when she blurts out in the middle of conversation, “You could join us, you know.”

Natasha sits back in her chair, her face going unsettlingly blank again. She’s been doing it less and less lately, as they talk, and Peggy frowns to see the mask come back. “I’m a hired gun. I don’t think I’d fit in with the government.”

“You blend in as well as any spy I’ve ever met and you fight better than half my senior agents,” Peggy points out, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you were trained, but you’re clearly meant for the field. And just because our guns are legally employed doesn’t make them any less deadly. It would be a way to get you your protection. Besides,” she adds, trying for a smile, “I’m going to need backup when I try to put this in a report, or nobody’s going to believe me.”

Natasha does smile, a little, and shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll think about it,” she says, and Peggy lets her change the topic.

Natasha thinking worked out well for her the last time; Peggy only hopes this, too, might repeat itself.

* * *

In the end, the answer is so simple and ridiculous Peggy isn’t sure it isn’t a trick, or the definitive proof that she’s imagined this all.

They’ve been avoiding the cylinder that started it all for quite some time, well before Natasha decided on surrendering each night, but after weeks of staying away, Peggy opts to rifle through the drawers herself for once. Maybe things will have changed; maybe now that they’ve given it long enough, the contact will stop it all, rather than set it in motion again.

All she has to do is open the drawer, and the tinges of her vision are tinged green, and Peggy is _tired_ , tired of hiding things from her team, tired of waiting to move forward, tired of disappointment, tired of this careful _waiting_.

It’s in a fit of temper that she raises her gun, unloading her clip into this mysterious _thing_ that set it all in motion, and she waits for what’ll happen next with a sick feeling in her stomach, sure it will be worse, but at least it will be _different_ , at least it will be _change_ \--

And nothing happens.

The green recedes, and she can still hear the team ransacking the outer office, hear Cahill cursing Natasha for turning him in.

Nothing happens, and the darkness doesn’t come, and time keeps moving forward.

She knows it must seem quite mad to her team when they find her, laughing hysterically and holding on to the filing cabinet for dear life, but she can’t quite find it in her to stop yet. It’s not as if she can explain, even if she did.

* * *

In between cleaning out the office and getting the team on a plane for the States, Natasha disappears.

Peggy isn’t surprised, not really, but she still watches out at the airport for a flash of red hair.

* * *

It’s two months on, two blessedly forward-moving months, when Peggy realizes she’s being followed on her way home.

The amount of enemies she’s made personally are too high to count; the enemies to SHIELD, even moreso. There’s no reason for hope, when she stops and waits on the sparsely populated street in the dusk. There’s no reason to do anything but reach for her gun, but she waits, leaning back against a wall as if she has all the time in the world to stand here still.

It doesn’t take long before somebody leans next to her, a flash of red in the corner of her eye, and Peggy smiles.

“I was thinking,” Natasha says quietly, and turns to face her. “Does SHIELD still have room for a hired gun?”

“I think we might be able to find a place.”

“I’m guessing your team doesn’t have a lot of goodwill for me after I disappeared?”

“I’ll pull rank,” Peggy says loftily, and is rewarded with a smile. That smile’s been in her dreams. “I missed you,” she admits; Natasha goes stiff, just a little, but Peggy doesn’t move, just looks at her steadily until she responds.

“Me too,” she says. “I had some things to take care of. My--”

“It’s fine,” Peggy interrupts. They’ll have to get it out later, find out the history, the names and dates they’d talked around for so long, but she doesn’t want a business meeting yet.

“Is it?” Natasha asks quietly, and Peggy smiles.

“Come take a night with me. Have dinner,” Peggy offers. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

Natasha watches her for a moment before nodding. Peggy moves to push off the wall, lead the rest of the way to her apartment, but Natasha’s there suddenly, close and blocking the way, a hand on her shoulder. Peggy lets her take the lead, responding to Natasha’s mouth on hers with eagerness and a hand sliding around Natasha’s back, holding her there for a few long, lovely minutes.

“That’s not going to be a problem with the job offer, is it?” Natasha asks dryly when they finally separate, eyes bright in the low light, and Peggy laughs.

“I think we found our way through worse,” she says, and kisses Natasha again before she has a chance to argue.


End file.
